The Breegull
by Hawkmon19
Summary: A remake of the Raven by Poe but with breegulls


THE BREEGULL

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary   
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten war--   
While I nodded nearly, napping, suddenly there came tapping   
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door   
"'Tis some visitor", I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;   
And each separate dying ember wrought Bottles ghost upon the floor   
Eagerly I wished the morrow-- vainly I have lift, the sorrow   
From my books surcease of sorrow-- sorrow fort the lost Gruntynore   
For the rare and radiant maiden whom I named Gruntynore

Nameless under a boulder forevermore

And the silken, sad, uncertain rusting of each red curtain   
Thrilled me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;   
So that now to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,   
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--   
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door

That is it and nothing more

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,   
"Sir," said I " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore   
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,   
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,   
I was scare I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door--

A feather there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,   
fearing,   
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;   
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,   
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word. "Gruntynore"?   
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Gruntynore"!

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,   
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder then before.   
"Surely" said I "surely that is something at my window lattice;   
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery I'll explore   
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery I'll explore--

'Tis the wind and nothing more

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,   
In there stepped a stately Breegull of the saintly days of war;   
Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;   
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--   
Perched upon a bust of Grunty just above my chamber door--

Perched and sat, and nothing more.

Then this erubescent bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,   
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,   
" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said " art sure no   
craven,   
Ghastly, grim and ancient Breegull wandering from the Nightly   
shore--   
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutoian shore!"

Quoth the Breegull, " Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear it discourse so plainly,   
Thought its answer little meaning-- little relevancy bore;   
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being   
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--   
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door

Which such name as "Nevermore."

But the Breegull, sitting lonely on the placid bust spoke only   
That one word as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.   
Nothing further then she uttered, not a feather then she fluttered   
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown   
before--   
On the morrow she will leave me, as my hopes have flown before!"

then the Breegull said, "Nevermore"

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,   
"Doubtless" said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store   
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster   
Followed fast and followed faster till her songs one burden bore

Of never-- nevermore

But the Breegull still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,   
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and   
door;   
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking   
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of more--   
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing   
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my core;   
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining   
On the cushion's velvet lining the the lamp glowed over   
But whose velvet lining the the lamp glowed over

She shall press, ah, nevermore

Then, I thought, the air grew denser, perfumed by a unseen   
censer   
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the floor.   
"Wretch," I cried, "thy Grunty hath lent thee--by these angels she hath   
sent thee"   
Respite respite and nepenthe from the memories of Gruntynore!   
Quaff, oh quaff this king of nepenthe and forget this lost Gruntynore!

Quoth the Breegull "Nevermore"

"Prophet!" said I said " thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!   
Whether temper sent or whether tempest tossed thee ashore   
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted   
On this home by horror haunted tell me truly I implore   
Is there is there palm in isle tell me tell me I implore

Quoth the Breegull "Nevermore"

"Prophet!" said I said " thing of evil prophet still, if bird or devil!   
By that haven that bends above us by that Grunty I adore   
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if within the distant maiden   
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Gruntynore   
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Gruntynore

Quoth the Breegull "Nevermore"

"Be that word our parting, bird or fiend! i shrieked   
upstarting   
"Get thee back into tempest and the night's Plutoian shore   
Leave no plume as a token of that lie the soul has spoken   
Leave my loneliness unbroken! Quit the bust above my door!   
Take thy beak from out my heart and take the form from off my   
door!

Quoth the Breegull, "Nevermore"

And the Breegull never flitting, still is sitting still is sitting   
On the pallid bust of Grunty just above my chamber door;   
And his eyes have all the seeming of a dreaming minion   
And the lamplight throwing his shadow on the floor   
And my soul from out that shadows lies on the floor

Shall be lifted- nevermore

Note: I dont own this poem   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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